


Claire de Lune

by orionsroad



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek tries to deal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e09 The Girl Who Knew Too Much, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season 3 feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionsroad/pseuds/orionsroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a fight with the Darach, Derek sits by Cora's bedside and finds that for the first time he doesn't need to seek out comfort - it finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claire de Lune

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after watching E09, and just jumps straight to my made up ending for E10 'The Overlooked' in which Jennifer/the Darach has been killed/defeated and they managed to save the Sheriff and get him into hospital. Cora sat the whole thing out and is in hospital still, her lack of healing still unexplained. (I've basically ignored the trailer for E10)
> 
> Besides Season 3 feels, this fic is heavily influenced by the song 'Claire de Lune' by Flight Facilities (it means Moonlight in French!), which matches the mood here if you'd like some mood-music. :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here to find it on Youtube.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jcu1AHaTchM)

### Claire de Lune

Derek hears him coming.  
  
The quick pitter-patter of his heart has always stood out, arrhythmic and just this side of too fast. The Adderall doesn’t help, but really it’s just _Stiles_ , a hallmark of everything the spastic, stupidly insightful boy is.  
  
He hasn’t been far away. Just down the hall in another room, standing his own vigil next to what’s left of his family - just like Derek.  
  
Stiles had refused to leave his father’s room, even once the Sheriff had been stabilised and settled into a deep, healing sleep. It wasn’t anything that Derek could, would, judge him for; he himself slipping away after only moments spent ensuring Stiles was safe. That the Sheriff would be okay.  
  
Like the Sheriff, Cora slept, but it was hardly healing. Unlike the very obvious stab wounds, bruises and lacerations across the Sheriff’s torso where Jennifer… where the Darach had toyed with him, Cora’s pain came from somewhere hidden and unknown.  
  
And Derek, as always, could do nothing but sit, waiting and worrying and not knowing where to go next.  
  
Instead, it is Stiles who comes to him.  
  
Derek doesn’t lift his head from where it’s buried, resting in his hands. Doesn’t need to, to hear the shuffle of sneakers and the movement of blue plaid against cotton as Stiles enters the room. There’s a pause, a hitch in his step at the door where Derek knows he’s taking in the room. Taking in Cora’s sickly, swathed body and Derek’s hunched form in the stupid plastic chair beside her.  
  
It’s the second time this week that Stiles’ large hand comes to rest on his shoulder, less hesitant this time and more purposeful. And like last time, Derek doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move at all, because despite everything, Stiles is still Stiles and Derek knows there’s nothing to fear in him.  
  
There’s no movement for some time, just the heavy weight of Stiles’ hand and the steady fluttering of his pulse. The quiet shows Stiles’ seriousness, a measure of the strange pool of calm he manages to draw from when things really hit the fan. It’s something Derek has noticed – the worse the situation, the steadier Stiles becomes. Beyond the panic, the flailing, the blustering, Stiles can settle into a single-minded determination where it’s like the real core of him is exposed. The silly kid falls away to a steely sharp mind that is unflinching and sometimes brutal, as evidenced by the night they’d just lived through. Derek has also seen it each time he has shown he’s willing to sacrifice people he isn’t invested in if that’s what needs to be done. Scott wants to save everyone, but Stiles only cares about those who have earned his loyalty.  
  
Stiles, if he wanted to, could really be very dangerous.  
  
And yet…  
  
“Thank you.” It’s quiet, but maybe one of the most sincere things that Derek has ever heard Stiles utter.  
  
It makes Derek’s stomach churn.  
  
“Don’t thank me,” he growls near involuntarily, his hands falling away from his face. Stiles stills even further at his outburst.  
  
“I will thank you, because without your help he would have died tonight. So you don’t get a choice. _Thank you._ ” The words are lighter, more Stileseque, but no less sincere.  
  
“He shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” Derek stares blankly at the blue cotton strands that weave together into Cora’s blanket. _It’s my fault, again,_ is unsaid.  
  
“If the world were a better place, sure. If there were no fucking power hungry Alphas. If there were no fucking crazy dark druids. But it was always going to be him. We all knew it, soon as Allison found the last group of sacrifices.”  
  
Derek shakes his head, minute movements back and forth that are stilled as Stile’s hand shifts to grab his neck.  
  
“Stop it,” the boy says. “It’s not your fault.”  
  
Derek can’t help but let out an incredulous huff of air, closing his eyes and blocking out the ever deepening weave that spins in front of his eyes with the intensity that he'd been staring at it with.  
  
“Derek, you couldn’t have known. She targeted you, to keep you from seeing what– ” He cuts off abruptly, and Derek squeezes his eyes closed harder. The hand slides from the back of his neck down to sit in the curve into his shoulder. “I…” _I’m sorry,_ he’s sure Stiles means. Sure the boy sees what the parallels are, the fact that every time Derek reaches out, it’s to the wrong person. That he attracts murderers and insanity. That he never, ever, seems to make the right decisions. That he leads everyone into ruin.  
  
The thought should make him want to push Stiles away, force the boy from his presence, from his life. For his own safety, and for Derek’s. Because he’s not sure how much more of this he can take. He’s not brave enough to open his eyes and look at the pale, damp face of his little sister, but if Cora… if Cora… well. He has so little left.  
  
Instead of pushing Stiles off though, instead of growling and threatening and resorting to the only type of response he’s brave enough to use most of the time, he turns his head and presses his cheek to the fingers on his shoulder.  
  
They’re warm, solid and real, and Derek just can’t anymore. He can’t.  
  
His whole body turns, his face finds soft cotton and he’s engulfed with the smell of human, boy, sweat, anger, fear, chemicals, coffeecornchipsoapsun _warmth_.  
  
Stiles’ stomach rises with a quick intake of breath but then the hand on him shifts again, his arm coming around to encircle Derek's shoulders, and Derek breaths out himself and finally allows himself to let go.  
  
Everyone he knows, he has ever cared about, is dead or has betrayed him. This stupid kid that’s standing there like it’s not Derek’s fault his dad nearly got gutted tonight because he got sucked in by another pretty face; this stupid kid is maybe one of the only ones left.  
  
Cora is all that’s keeping him afloat right now, but at the same time he can’t find it in himself to trust her. There are so many unanswered questions and Derek just wants to know why, why she never came back for him or Laura. Doesn’t understand why she’s back now when he’s nothing but a disappointment. And Isaac… Isaac needs all these things from him that Derek just can’t seem to figure out. And he’s not stupid. If Scott is what Deucalion thinks he is, if he’s this magic Alpha with all the answers and abilities that Derek's never had... well then Isaac will be gone as fast as Derek can blink.  
  
He’s beholden to both of them, but he doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t trust them, and really doesn’t trust himself. He owes them so much but doesn’t think he can deliver any of it.  
  
Stiles though… he doesn’t ask Derek for anything. Doesn’t damn well expect jack from him. Stiles runs around looking after everyone else, but he has very little expectations of his own. He’s helped Derek when he’s had less than no reason to, given up dreams and lied to his beloved father for Derek when they were barely civil to each other.  
  
Summer brought a more-or-less easy co-existence between them, but somewhere during that time, or maybe in the last few awful weeks, Derek has somehow found himself with Stile’s loyalty. He doesn’t understand it at all, and maybe that’s for the best. He’s not good at choosing who to reach out for. Maybe this time he doesn't need to reach out, because it's already being offered.  
  
Derek hasn’t felt safe since he was 15 and in love, but this is maybe as close as he can be for the moment - when Stiles lets him rest there against him, when he doesn’t say a word but his fingers press down against Derek’s shoulder.  
  
It’s enough, maybe, to keep him hanging on for a little while longer. To give him a little air until he can really breathe again.  
  


_Tell me that the lights won't change_  
 _Tell me that it'll stay the same_  
 _Where we go, where we_  
 _Where we go_


End file.
